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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519829">Life's great happiness is to be convinced we are loved</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiamer/pseuds/xiamer'>xiamer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Combeferre &amp; Enjolras Platonic Life Partners, Enjolras Has Feelings, Enjolras and Cosette Fauchelevent are Siblings, Enjolras is TALL, Enjolras listens to Lorde, F/F, F/M, I like to make him suffer, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Reincarnation, THIS IS NOW CANON, and theyre not super great, basically this is “how much can i hurt enj”, enjolangst, he definitely has some mental health issues that he’s never talked about, hi im updating the tags, ill probably need to update these later, sorry - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:21:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,814</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519829</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiamer/pseuds/xiamer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Title is from the brick because I cannot TITLE </p><p>In 1832, the reason that the group that almost became historic did not become historic was that it simply did not exist. Enjolras, the Chief of the group, was the only member who lived during the June Rebellion. The others were not around yet. However, after his death by the National Guard on the 6th of June, 1832, Enjolras wakes again on the 6th of June, 2019. And apparently he is 26, just as he was when he died, except he can’t remember any of the years leading up to the moment that he wakes up. Well he can, just not in this life. </p><p>Basically Enjolras dies in a world without the barricade boys, and wakes up in a modern day setting where he has all of the bonds that we know him to have.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Combeferre &amp; Courfeyrac &amp; Enjolras (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Orestes fasting and Pylades apparently not existing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hiiiiii lovelies !!</p><p>okay so i was gonna post this as one big long thing on barricade day, but i now see that that would have been real hard because of online school and all that. so my next update will definitely be ON barricade day, cross my heart and hope to die. but im not sure about after that so bear with me !</p><p>also please keep in mind that this is completely un-beta read because im just a 15 year old who writes these chapters at ungodly hours in the morning, so sorry for any mistakes</p><p>also what i mean by the enjolras/grantaire being weird, is not that its like dub-con or non-con or like friends w benefits. its just that R knows enjolras and theyve been dating, but when enjolras comes to now, he has no idea who anyone is. but my babies WILL be in love by the end, you have my word</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>For certain as our banner flies, we are not alone, the people too, must rise.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He had been so sure, so damn sure. For his faith was unwavering and his love for his country unparalleled. The citizens of France would come to the call. The citizens of France would cast aside their fear, their doubts. The citizens of France would rise out of the barricades and welcome in a new dawn.</p><p>But he had been wrong. So very, very wrong.</p><p>As Enjolras stood there, facing down a pack of at least a dozen men, he felt no fear. No, the only thing that he felt, the only emotion left in him was shame. Burning shame consumed his entire being, and as he looked down the barrels of twelve different muskets, the only option left was to think back to every action that had led him to this moment.</p><p>Going so far as to even think about his childhood in Grenoble, Enjolras thought of his family, if they even were to be called his family anymore. Blood relatives with whom all contact was severed might be a more fitting description. They had liked him well enough in his childhood, as much as is to be expected from distant and wealthy individuals. Enjolras was never showered with praise as a child, but that was okay. He did not need to be praised in order to grow into a proper young man. The true problem arose after he left the South for Paris. They had nothing against the city, but they had everything against the beliefs he fortified there. After his first political essay was published, Enjolras received a letter that said, in no uncertain terms, that he was no longer welcome in his parents’ household. And once again, that was okay. He did not need praise or acceptance in order to grow into a charming young man.</p><p>Really.</p><p>He didn’t.</p><p>No. No, this was not the time to think about any sort of neglect he may or may not have experienced. Now was the time to realise that he was the one to neglect. He had neglected to save the lives of others at the barricade. His own life meant nothing, that was his own to give so freely, but the lives of other young men meant so much more. Yes, it may have been their choice to stand with him, but he must have neglected to truly inform them of the danger of the barricade. Their deaths were to be blamed on him, were they not?</p><p>He must have done something wrong, something to make the barricades fail as they did. Right?</p><p>It was his fault.</p><p>So, facing the National Guard, he accepted his fate. He embodied the last stand of the rebels. Squaring his shoulders and tossing aside his weapon, Enjolras welcomed Death as though he were his old companion. The first and last embrace he would give would be to Death. He still felt no fear, despite the dozen musket barrels aimed towards his body.</p><p>What came next is unclear.</p><p>Enjolras knew he had been shot. Twelve bullets. Were all of them for him? It felt as though he was only meant to take eight. Twelve bullets nailed him to the wall. Yes, that is what happened, was it not?</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>As it happens to be, that is what occurred, though not what was meant to happen. The sceptic did not come to take four of those shots, in fact he was not there at all. And as it is, neither was the guide, nor the centre. No malade imaginaire, no working man, no poet. As it was, there was not a member of Les Amis de l’ABC present at the June barricades, bar the Chief.</p><p>And so let it be known, Enjolras, in fact, was alone. Not entirely, as there were still the other men of the barricade, but he did not have the support of the eight other men known to have fallen with him. Not even love-struck Pontmercy, or revolutionary Gavroche. Not even love-sick Éponine, though he was not aware of her presence originally as it were anyway.</p><p>Since there was no Joly, nor a Bossuet, there was no Musichetta to be found in 1832. And since there was no Marius, there was no Cosette Fauchelevent, nor Jean Valjean. And a world lacking Valjean lacked Javert as well. Every character that somehow played their part in the life of Enjolras was not to be found in his time. So once the report rang out, what befell Enjolras?</p><p>Well he went to a world that had all that his lacked.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Enjolras struggles to find matching clothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Enjolras wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar flat, with unfamiliar people.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi ! i know i said the next update would be barricade day but i finished this chapter and got excited so im uploading it now </p><p>just so you know, italicised text is enj’s inner thoughts, but also when used in dialogue, it’s any word that’s in french </p><p>okay so this chapter got kinda angsty at the end im sorry</p><p>i was listening to Jekyll and Hyde and the energy just kinda transferred into my writing </p><p>***so warning for a panic attack at the end, and a whole lotta self deprecating thoughts through out***</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Enjolras woke with a start to the most horrible noise he had ever heard. What it was, he did not know. Nor how to turn it off. It just kept blaring and he hadn’t a clue how to stop it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hold on a second. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had woken up to this noise. He had </span>
  <em>
    <span>woken up. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, he was no expert on death, but he was pretty sure that you don’t just wake up again and after dying via TWELVE bullets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could even really think about this entire idea, or where he even was, he heard a man shout-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good fucking GOD Jojo, turn your damn alarm off!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And with this, the door to the room (that he was apparently in?) slammed open to reveal a short man with curly brown hair. Actually, was he even a man? His youthful features, alongside his height, made him appear to be approximately 12 at the oldest. Seriously. He looked young, and that’s coming from Enjolras. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras must have been staring at him for too long, because curly-haired boy stormed over to him and snatched something off of the table next to him. It was… a rectangular prism? What? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever curly-haired boy did with the prism, it shut the noise off. Enjolras was still staring at him, completely confused, but the next thing he knew, curly-haired boy threw the object at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why do you even have an alarm set for 7:30? You don’t even have class dude, SciencesPo is done for the year, remember?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, he did not remember. He did not remember anything, thank you very much. He did not remember how he got into this room, did not remember the person in front of him. Hell, he didn’t even KNOW what “SciencesPo” was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Euh, Jojo? Enjy? Enjolras? You good man?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once again startled from his thoughts, he glanced warily at the man. Where the hell was he? The man evidently knew him well enough to be in, what he was assuming to be, his flat, though it did not at all look familiar. Which was strange to say the least. Enjolras did not have anyone he could consider to be a friend, let alone anyone he would willingly let into his flat without his knowledge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He realised once again (he should really stop thinking so much right now) that he should probably respond and stop staring. He knew he had to ask something, so he prepared to start firing off questions about where he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jojo?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah well, that works too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though it came out very accusatory, it seemed to make the other man relax. The mix of confusion and concern left his face, and a crooked smirk replaced it instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jojo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You know I adore you and all, but the best part is seeing you turn all red when I use it. Ferre says that if I use it too much, one day you’ll snap and kill me, but I know you’d never kill me because you </span>
  <em>
    <span>looooooove </span>
  </em>
  <span>me. Besides, if R gets to call you Enj or Apollo, I think I deserve my own special nickname with you, and Enjy is just too typical of everyone else to use.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he had no idea who curly-haired boy was, but apparently there was a “Ferre” and an “R”? The latter wasn’t even a name, but it was something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ooh! Speak of the devil, and he may appear!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the space in the doorway was filled again, but this time by someone who seemed to be the opposite of curly-haired boy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whilst curly-haired boy had tanned skin with a head full of dark brown ringlets, the new man was darker with shorter hair that seemed to stick up in every direction, with a small pair of spectacles sitting on his nose. He was also tall. A lot taller than the other one. Curly-haired boy couldn’t be taller than 155 centimetres, but glasses-man was definitely over 190. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed at his chest, with a look that appeared to be disappointed, but the mask was broken by the small, fond smile tugging at his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The devil am I? How unfortunate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Curly-haired boy dramatically gasped and fell on the bed that Enjolras was still very confusedly sitting on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ferre forgive me! You are an angel from heaven above!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Glasses-man (Ferre?) laughed and pushed his way off of the doorframe, and into the room. He walked towards the bed and sat down in between Enjolras and curly-haired boy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Courf, you know we love you, but it’s too early for your antics.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Curly-haired boy (this one was Courf?) pouted and rolled into Ferre’s lap, landing so that he was facing up at Ferre. Ferre smiled fondly at the boy, as though this were the most normal thing ever. As if he were not sitting next to the world’s most confused 19th century French revolutionary. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two stayed like that for awhile, chatting quietly, and completely ignoring Enjolras, who took the opportunity to glance around the room. The bed was in the corner of the room, with a small, and very cluttered, bedside table to the left of it. Across from the bed was a writing desk, which, like the table, was overflowing with papers and other work. In the two opposite corners were a wardrobe and a bookshelf respectively. There was a window right by the bed, but there was something blocking the sunlight from streaming in. They were not curtains, but instead some sort of pleated material. Strange. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sufficiently acquainted with the room, that was absolutely not his own, he turned towards his two companions again, this time examining their clothing. They appeared to be in sleepwear, which made sense, as he recalled Courf saying something about it being around 7:30. However, what did not make sense, was exactly what it was they were wearing. Ferre appeared to be wearing a loose, blue shirt and trousers set. Though the style was entirely unfamiliar to him, the material looked as though it were… what was it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>flanelle</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Yes, he at least had an idea of what </span>
  <em>
    <span>flanelle</span>
  </em>
  <span> was. Courf’s ensemble however… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had on what appeared to be a shirt. Perhaps. Maybe? It was made of a material unlike anything he had seen before. It appeared to be very coarse and rough, especially compared to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>flanelle</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Ferre was donning. Courf’s shirt has no sleeves, or at least sleeves that only went a little below his shoulders. Definitely not something that would ever be deemed appropriate. And underneath this “shirt”… there was something? Enjolras wasn’t really sure what to call it. Some form of undergarment, but very openly on display. Whatever strange world he had been put in, the people of it certainly had no shame. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking down to inspect his own ensemble, he found it to be a mix of the two previously discussed. He had the same type of pants as Ferre, though his were more of a brown. He had on some sort of bulky jacket (?) on as a top, though he could feel that there was nothing underneath it. It was also in a shade of brown, though different from his pants. What was with all the brown?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could delve too deep into the mystery of the brown pants, Ferre and Courf appeared to have finished their little conversation and were now turning to face him, addressing him for the first time. Still bursting with questions such as “who are you”, “where am I” and the ever eloquent “what the fuck”, Enjolras decided he should probably refrain from shooting those around right now, as that would be rather rude. Instead he settled for-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Euh, salut.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Real eloquent Enjolras. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You convinced men to needlessly sacrifice their lives for you by going “Euh, salut”. No wonder the monarchy didn’t listen to you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oblivious to his inner turmoil and downward spiral, Ferre cocked an eyebrow whilst Courf just smirked at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, so even the mighty Jojo stumbles over his words when he’s up early for no reason. Seriously man, not that I disliked this wonderful quality time with my best friends, but did it really have to occur at 7:30?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So they were his best friends? Strange. He had never had a “best friend” before. Sure, there were children he played with when he was younger, but as he matured and grew up, there was no need for such trivial things. He had a Revolution to run after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A revolution to run into the ground and kill innocents more like. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ferre shook him out of his thoughts once again, and Enjolras came to the conclusion that he should probably just stop thinking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Courf, speaking of the time, we should probably get out of his hair so he can get dressed. There was obviously some reason for him being up this early,” he said as he winked, “but I, personally, am going back to bed, so I’ll see you later E.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that, Ferre walked out of the room, dragging Courf with him. And just like that, the door was shut and Enjolras was more confused than ever, but now he was confused in the dark. He got up out of the bed and fumbled around the room, looking for something to light the room. He had quickly discarded the idea of the window, as he had no idea how to make the panelling move out of the way. In his stumble around the walls, he hit something that was smooth and jutted out of the wall. He knocked it up and suddenly the room was alight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras froze and looked around in a panic. The light has the warm qualities of candle light, but it filled the entire room. He turned towards the wall and discovered that he had hit a small lever. It was now pointed upwards, and cautiously, he flicked it down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras was engulfed in darkness yet again. He flicked the lever up, and the light returned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras was not one to be religious, he had never really believed the God that his parents so devoutly worshipped. But now, Enjolras was sure that this was some sort of Godly intervention. “Let there be light”?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He left the light on and ventured to the wardrobe. The clothing he had on was comfortable, but it was very strange and he just wanted ONE normal thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opening the wardrobe was a mistake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What he saw was NOT his white cotton shirts, nor his waistcoats and cravats. It was a mess of clothing he did not recognise. Where was he? This was definitely not his closet, and the clothes were definitely not a typical French style. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sacrebleu</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he muttered, “what is this fashion.  Russian?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Digging through the clothing in the wardrobe, he looked for what looked the most familiar. What he emerged with was what appeared to be more of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>chemisier </span>
  </em>
  <span>than a normal shirt that he was used to. There was also something strange about the colour, it seemed to be aggressively… what was that colour? He honestly had no idea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pants were not as tight as he was used to, and they fit around his waist without the need for suspenders. They were just a simple brown, as opposed to whatever stress inducing colour the shirt was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras was, however, delighted to find his coat. Not just some random coat, it was HIS tailcoat. He pulled it on over the rest of his ensemble and hoped he looked presentable enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could only pray that the colours matched. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras had read enough from Dalton to understand that he couldn’t see colours in a normal way. Some of them just didn’t show up. They all blended into… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh god, what colours was he currently wearing?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only reason he knew that his coat was red was his title of “The Leader in Red”. But the shirt and trousers that he currently wore? They could be anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was too late for him to find something else now, as he wasn’t too keen on attempting to pull something else together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Besides what kind of selfish bastard are you? Thinking more about your own appearance than what you caused. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras tried to shake out those thoughts. He could hate himself later, now he had to figure out what was happening and where he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Walking to the door, he slowly opened it, taking care to flip the lever as he passed it. It just felt like the right thing to do. The light disappeared, but was replaced by the natural light flowing in through the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stepped out into the hallway, and was only met with the ability to go left, so go left he did. The hallway wasn’t too terribly long, but there were other doors that he was curious to go into. However, he knew going straight would be best. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the end of the hallway he arrived in a large room split into several parts. He turned right and ended up in what could potentially be a kitchen?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mon dieu</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Russia is not what I expected.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>(Alas poor Enjolras believed himself to be in Russia, as he was completely unsure of where he could even be. After all, he had died in 1832 in Paris, and did not expect to wake up in an unfamiliar household with complete strangers. Could you blame him for thinking he was perhaps in Eastern Europe?)</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Enjolras simply stood at the entrance to the kitchen(?), almost afraid to go in. He just wanted to know where he was, and not be confused. He didn’t even know what time it was anymore. How much time had passed since Courf and Ferre left the room?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked around but could find not some sort of clock to indicate the hour. Enjolras had been proud of his composure up until this point, but now everything was beginning to set in. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t know who he was, didn’t know anyone, and now he didn’t even know the fucking time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What a well put together human being you are. About to panic and cry because you don’t know some little things. No wonder you had no companions, no one would want to deal with that. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Letting out a small whimper, Enjolras sank to the floor and braced his back against the wall. He would not cry, he wouldn’t. But soon, everything around him began to blur and it set in that he was wearing the wrong clothing, clothing that did not fit his own life, his own world. Where was he? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cut off the sob that tried to break through, as he prayed that the other two occupants of the flat would not hear him. He buried his face in his hands and tugged at his hair to ground him. He pulled his hair down over his eyes, and though it should bring him comfort to see that the long, golden curls were his own, but it only made everything worse, because that solidified that it WAS him in this flat, not some other person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was Enjolras, and he was not where he should be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At this point, he had stopped trying to contain the tears, and let them run free. He still attempted to stifle his sobs, but it all felt so far away that he had no idea if he was successful in it or not. Everything was falling around him, and he tried to tell himself that he deserved to be able to express his emotions after all that had happened, but the overwhelming internal thoughts kept breaking through and reminding him that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you deserve nothing. You led men to their deaths. You died and came back, but none of them did. Why are you here?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He vaguely registered the sounds of chatter coming from one of the rooms near him. He froze as one of the doors opened. How would he explain his state to the two others? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He vaguely heard mentions of his name, and of an R? He thought he remembered Courf mentioning an “R” before, though he was unsure of who it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly the two turned and saw him, still laying against the wall, still clutching his hair in his fists. Enjolras could only partially see them through the curtain of his hair, but he noticed that they both rushed to his side. He stiffened a little, ready to be berated for his weak state, ready to be told to leave, ready to be hated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What he was not ready for was one of them gently pulling his hands from his hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What he was not ready for was one of them whispering gently to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What he was not ready for was one of them drying the rest of his tears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And miraculously, Enjolras calmed down. He regained control of his breathing and loosened his posture to be less stiff and more relaxed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He directed his gaze upwards towards a pair of amber eyes and a pair of deep brown. Both were filled with no judgment, only concern. No one had ever looked at him with such a soft expression, that he almost burst into tears again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Ferre was speaking in a low voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey E, what’s wrong? Is it R? Do you miss him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras decided to be honest. He was already tired and just wanted answers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know who you are or where I am.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>colour blind enj&gt;&gt;&gt; everything else</p><p>Dalton is the man who first started to write scientific journals about colour blindness, and so enj has read some of his stuff, but still doesn’t entirely understand his colour blindness, just knows that some colours appear brown. i like this hc  bc i like to think that enj wears the red jacket so much because someone complimented him on it once, so he didn’t bother looking for another thing to wear. </p><p>also his outfit was a horrible synthetic magenta shirt with lime green pants, both courtesy of courfeyrac. and i would love to believe that enj is such a nerd that he got a recreation of a jacket from the June rebellion made, hence how enj found it in his modern closet.</p><p>okay some more details-<br/>-grantaire is not going to show up for awhile because he’d be all tactile with enj, but hes never had any sort of positive touch because he had very neglectful parents, and so since he doesn’t know r it’d really freak him out<br/>-courf and ferre act like an old married couple but aren’t actually dating (yet !!!)<br/>-enj goes to SciencesPo, which is a well known parisian uni for polisci, and hes studying for his doctorate, since i made him his canonical age. the reason he doesn’t know what it is is because it was founded in 1872<br/>-right now r’s doing an art tour, which is very cliché i know i know, but i had to get him out of the country and away somehow<br/>-you have no idea how hard it was to write “curly-haired boy” like TWELVE BILLION TIMES; they will be referred to as combeferre and courfeyrac in the next chapter, but in this one, enj is just referring to them by what he thinks their names are<br/>-also courf is TINY and end and ferre are very tall, thank you for coming to my ted talk</p><p>sorry that it ends on a cliffhanger, but hey i gotta make you guys stay interested somehow </p><p>stay tuned, ill update this on barricade day (hopefully !!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. In which the author pulls a Victor Hugo and derails the plot to talk about dyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Enjolras meets his best friends of 20+ years for the first time and learns about his life</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ahhhhh hi !!</p><p>so i know i said id have a new chapter out for barricade day but my dumbass didnt realise that i published the other one at 3am on 5 June, so i did technically publish it on barricade day ;))</p><p>but anyways, italicised text is either french words or enjy’s inner thoughts</p><p>nothing really warranting a tw happens in this chapter, other than some internal homophobia that’s not really touched on</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Courf and Ferre just stared at him with blank expressions so alike that they could be twins. Enjolras shifted uncomfortably under their gazes and turned his head to the side so that he wasn’t looking at them straight on. </p><p>Ferre seemed to snap out of his daze first, as in less than a minute, his face went from expressionless to shocked, to confused and finally landing on deep rooted concern. </p><p>“You don’t remember us?”</p><p>It was said slowly and carefully, as though he were speaking to a spooked animal, and that just made Enjolras feel worse.</p><p>“It’s… it’s not that I don’t remember you, it’s that we’ve never met.”</p><p>By this point Courf was listening to him too, brows furrowed, mouth opening and closing as though he meant to say something, but couldn’t. In some other situation, it may have been comical. But he wasn’t laughing now, not when he was confused and scared. </p><p>Court finally managed to get his mouth to catch up with his mouth as he croaked out-</p><p>“Come again?”</p><p>Enjolras, now feeling almost embarrassed, sank into himself more, and quietly muttered, “I really haven’t a clue who you two are, or where it is that I am.”</p><p>Ferre cleared his throat and asked, “What do you know?”</p><p>Enjolras thought about it for a second. What DID he know?</p><p>“I… I was… I died.”</p><p>The looks of concern increased tenfold as Ferre and Courf turned from him towards each other. They had a wordless conversation, and soon Ferre turned back to him.</p><p>“Can you tell us exactly what happened, and what you remember?”</p><p>The tone he said it with was so gentle that Enjolras felt compelled to tell these two strangers his entire life story. </p><p>“The last few days of my life… well we were planning for the barricades. After General Lamarque’s death,” the mention of Lamarque caused Ferre to sharply inhale but Enjolras kept going, “I orchestrated the demonstration leading to the barricades to occur on his funeral day. On the day of the funeral, we set up the barricades, but- but by the end of the first night, it felt destined to fail. We were set in Rue de la Chanvrerie, and so in the early morning light of the next day, I attempted to get some of the men to leave. I did not wish to see them all perish beside me. Unfortunately, I could not get every man to leave, and as dawn broke, I had to watch all of them die at my feet. I lasted as long as I could, but by the end I was cornered in the Corinth, and I died in that moment, pierced by a dozen bullets.”</p><p>As he finished, Enjolras snuck a glance at his companions Courf seemed to be confused beyond all belief, but Ferre looked deep in thought. </p><p>“E, what's the date today?”</p><p>It was not accusatory in nature, but Enjolras still felt as though he were about to give the wrong answer. </p><p>“The 6th of June, 1832…?”</p><p>Court whipped his head up and stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Ferre did not have such open shock on his features, but it was still evident. Enjolras felt that there was some sort of information that he was lacking. Ferre cleared his throat once again before speaking. </p><p>“Okay. E. Here’s what I’m going to tell you. My name is Jean-Michel Combeferre, and this is Mathieu Courfeyrac, but we all go by our last names. You are Julien Enjolras, though I’m sure you knew that already. Both you and I are 26, and Courf is 25. We’ve known each other since we were toddlers, over 20 years. You study at the Paris Institute of Political Sciences, otherwise known as SciencesPo, and you’re studying for your doctorate. I’m in my first year residency at a local hospital and Courf is a Jr. Associate at a law firm. This is our flat, we all live here together. The three of us created a student activist group when we were in undergrad, and have kept it going since then. There are 10 members, other than us, and it’s called Les Amis de l’ABC, which you suggested after reading about the June Rebellion, which I believe is the rebellion that you yourself started.”</p><p>Enjolras stared in shock, trying to process all this information. But before he could ask any questions, Courfeyrac tacked on-</p><p>“Oh, and euh, today’s date is the 6th of June, 2019.”</p><p>Okay, and that was definitely the hardest hitting blow. 2019? That wasn’t right. There was no way that he died 187 years ago, and came back. This just didn’t make any sense. </p><p>But then again, here he was. </p><p>Unsure of what to say next, he quietly choked out-</p><p>“What colours am I wearing?”</p><p>That startled a laugh out of Courfeyrac. </p><p>“It’s a horrible shade of magenta on top, with disgustingly bright green on bottom.”</p><p>Enjolras tilted his head in a questioning manner. </p><p>“Magenta?”</p><p>Combeferre chuckled quietly before responding-</p><p>“It’s a synthetic dye colour. A real garish mix of red and purple.”</p><p>“Synthetic dye?”</p><p>“They’re dyes that are more man made than you would be used to.”</p><p>“When did synthetic dyes come into use?”</p><p>“The first was in 1856.”</p><p>“What are they made of?”</p><p>“Different chemical compounds.”</p><p>“So they make colours brighter?”</p><p>“Sort of. They give us a brighter colour to work with.”</p><p>“Do these colours exist naturally?”</p><p>“They could. But usually, they would be too difficult to get dye out of.”</p><p>“And… What does magenta look like?”</p><p>“Well like I said before, it’s a mix of red and purple. But well, you could also just look at your shirt.” </p><p>The last sentence was ended with a small snort. However, Combeferre did not look bitter, only mildly amused. Courfeyrac was starting at Combeferre, one eyebrow raised. </p><p>“Okay why do you know the history of synthetic dyes, and why am I not surprised that you do?”</p><p>Combeferre shrugged. “I read it somewhere when researching arsenic poisoning.”</p><p>“Arsenic poisoning?”</p><p>Both men turned to him. </p><p>“Dude yeah no, arsenic is not good,” said Courfeyrac as he raised the other eyebrow. </p><p>“Yes, as Courfeyrac so eloquently said, arsenic leads to a very slow and painful death. This was pretty much ignored until Matilda Scheurer died in 1862.”</p><p>Enjolras furrowed his brow. “But do they not still use it?”</p><p>“Oh god no. Green dyes are much safer now. Those trousers,” Combeferre motioned downwards, “are made using safe, but synthetic dyes.”</p><p>“And,” Enjolras hesitated, “these trousers are green?”</p><p>The concern was back again in both of their expressions. He hastily added-</p><p>“It- It's just that, well, they look brown. As does the shirt. And the tailcoat, though it is much the same as my own, including the shade. I think. I… I actually don’t know what colour it is, I think it’s some sort of shade of red? I believe people have referred to me as ‘The Leader in Red’ before, so I am assuming my tailcoat is red? Perhaps they were speaking of me leading through bloodshed, though if I am to be perfectly honest, I doubt that would be it.”</p><p>He cut himself off in his ramblings, blushing and averting his gaze. </p><p>Being in unfamiliar territory just makes you a bumbling idiot, doesn’t it?</p><p>And, much to his chagrin, Courfeyrac started to laugh. Not just a small chuckle either, no, Courfeyrac was completely doubled over in laughter, and Combeferre seemed to be suppressing something similar. </p><p>Enjolras, now thoroughly embarrassed, began to shrink in on himself a little, but Courfeyrac soon pulled himself together and stopped cackling. </p><p>“Okay. Okay, okay, I’m not laughing at you. Well, I kinda am. But I’m not laughing at anything you did. I’m just laughing at the fact that we have known you for over 20 years, and neither of us knew that you were colour blind. But it makes a lot of sense that you are. Oh mon dieu,” he turned to Combeferre, “this is why he always looks so confused with R’s paintings.”</p><p>Enjolras was not entirely reassured that they were not mocking him, but the more important point that he felt the need to address, was a certain letter.</p><p>“Who is R?”</p><p>Courfeyrac sobered quickly and quietly muttered, “Oh merde.”</p><p>Enjolras, once again completely and utterly confused, questioningly cocked his head to the side again. Combeferre seemed to pick up on the gesture and answered both the spoken and unspoken question.</p><p>“So R is a nickname that we call Grantaire,” Enjolras gave a small snort at the pun, and Combeferre smiled slightly before continuing, “he’s a member of Les Amis, though he is our resident cynic. You two have known each other for about 7 years. In the beginning, it seemed like you two couldn’t stand each other. The meetings would all cycle in the same way. Grantaire would say something to oppose you, and you two would bicker about it. But after a particularly explosive argument a year or two after you had met, you both calmed down a little, and 5 years later you haven’t had any sort of argument that couldn’t be resolved after a day, at most.”</p><p>Enjolras drew his brows together. He did not doubt that Combeferre was telling the truth. He did doubt, however, that it was the full truth. Something just didn’t feel complete about that explanation, but before he could ask, Courfeyrac quickly interjected-</p><p>“Euh, Enjolras? What- what, ah, exactly is your opinion on homosexuality?”</p><p>Enjolras whipped his head to follow Courfeyrac’s voice. Eyes wide, he began to panic again. He knew exactly what that question was asking, and though it was legal, Enjolras still worried about the backlash he would get for answering. </p><p>“H-how did you- who- who told you?”</p><p>He tried to back up to get away from the two of them, but he hit the wall and realised that he was stuck there. He gazed up into the eyes of Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and realised the only thing in his expression was fear. Fear, because he was absolutely terrified.</p><p>Combeferre reached out and laid a hand on Enjolras’ arm. It was meant to be comforting, he was sure, but Enjolras was still terrified of what they were going to do. </p><p>“Hey, hey, E, it’s okay. Homosexuality is still legal, and is also widely accepted now, okay? It’s okay. You’re okay, I promise.”</p><p>Combeferre took his hand off Enjolras' arm, and gently put it to Enjolras’ cheek to direct his gaze upwards. Courfeyrac came closer to his other side.</p><p>“Listen, alright. I’m gay, so is Ferre. Most of our friends are, and we accept them for it, alright? It’s perfectly normal, and we don’t judge for it.”</p><p>“Gay?”</p><p>“Homosexual,” interjected Combeferre, “it’s colloquialism. We say gay now, just because ‘homosexual’ is a mouthful.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded slowly. He understood, for the most part. What he didn’t understand however-</p><p>“Why did you ask me this in the first place?”</p><p>Courfeyrac’s shoulders slumped, and Combeferre looked away. Enjolras couldn’t help but feel like there was something that he should be getting, but he was just overall very confused. </p><p>In the end, it was Combeferre who broke first. He heaved a great sigh and turned his head back to face Enjolras. </p><p>“Okay E, I’ll tell you, but you need to promise to stay calm until the end okay?” </p><p>Enjolras nodded.</p><p>Combeferre took a deep breath. “Alright. So gay marriage, that is homosexual marriage, has been legal in France since 2013, so for about 6 years. Which means it is legal for a man to be married to a man, or for a woman to be married to a woman. And so, you know how we mentioned Grantaire before?” </p><p>Another small nod from Enjolras, this one slower, as though he were connecting the ideas in his head. Combeferre took the nod as an “ok” to continue talking. </p><p>“So, you’ve known Grantaire for 7 years, and it’s been 5 years since you two last had an almost unfixable fight. Well… that’s because you realised during the time of that fight, that you loved him. And he loved you back, and it was a whole big affair, but after that fight was resolved, you two started dating, and it’s a whole big story, but it’s happy now. And…” </p><p>Combeferre cleared his throat and looked down again. Courfeyrac squeezed his eyes shut and rushed out, all in one breath-</p><p>“And-a-few-months-ago-you-proposed-to-him-so-you’re-getting-married-and-so-it’ll-<br/>
probably-be-awkward-to-not-recognise-your-fiancé-so-I-think-we-really-need-to-tell-<br/>
him.”</p><p>Enjolras could only gape at him in response.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry to leave you guys on a cliffhanger again but im tired and i write these at like, 4am, and im really sure if this chapter is any good sorry :((((( </p><p>some more information !</p><p>not everyone knew that arsenic was super poisonous, hence the fact that they used it in clothing dyes. scientists would definitely know more a bout it, but enj is no scientist.</p><p>also Matilda Scheurer was a 19 year old artificial flower maker who died really horrifically via arsenic poisoning. im not going to go into specifics here, but look it up if you want to know exactly what arsenic can do to you :(</p><p>some hcs-</p><p>-enj is red-green colour blind, but has never told anyone. literally, no one, like courf and Ferre didn’t know until he said so in this chapter<br/>-since he’s colour blind, enj just bullsshits when talking about r’s art<br/>-“hm yes these colours are very colourful”<br/>-enj and r have a super huge blow up and then they realise that oh wait they love each other !<br/>-ill talk about the fight later on<br/>-all. of. the. barricade. boys. are. gay.<br/>-except for like Marius but the rest of them are </p><p>sorry for derailing the plot to talk about synthetic dyes but i had to channel my inner Victor Hugo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Enjolras deals out a massive amount of Combeferre love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Enjolras learns more about his new world and also reminisces on the on he lost</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hiiiii !! </p><p>im sorry this took so long to go up, my posting schedule is not even a real schedule, and i kinda just write whenever i can - see me posting this at like 5:45 lmao </p><p>but the posting should get a little better after i finish up school, but thank you to all who’ve taken the time to read ! i love you all a lot :’)</p><p>italicised text is any french words, enj’s inner thoughts AND his flashback in this chapter </p><p>TW; nothing too bad, just a vague mention of enj killing claquesous and enj’s reoccurring self deprecating thoughts</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Enjolras managed to pull himself together enough to sound out a small whimper.</p><p>He ran through the facts of his scenario-</p><p>Enjolras died in the Corinth on 6 June, 1832. He awoke in an unfamiliar flat on 6 June, 2019, with two men named Combeferre and Courfeyrac that he had apparently known since childhood. He was 26, studying for a doctorate at a Political Science university that he had never heard of. He was wearing clothing in new colours that he couldn’t even see, but he still had on his familiar jacket. He ran a group that surely had to be similar to his own group of students from 1832, though it sounds as though he were actually close friends with those in the group, as opposed to being acquaintances at best. In said group, most were gay, which now meant homosexual. Being gay was acceptable now, and union between two men was legal.</p><p>Oh and he himself was apparently engaged to be married.</p><p>To another man.</p><p>That apparently he had been romantically involved with for five years.</p><p>At least the pun was good.</p><p>“<em>Sacrebleu</em>.”</p><p>Courfeyrac laughed.</p><p>“Yeah that about sums it up.”</p><p>Enjolras closed his eyes and tried to think of what to say next.</p><p>“So…”</p><p>He swallowed before shakily continuing.</p><p>“So what are we to do?”</p><p>Combeferre’s expression turned pensive as he looked to Courfeyrac. The two had a wordless conversation and soon Combeferre turned back to face Enjolras.</p><p>“So obviously we’re going to have to tell everyone sooner or later.”</p><p>Enjolras shrunk away a little at the word “everyone”, but Combeferre continued.</p><p>“We’re going to need to tell all of Les Amis. They’ll definitely be shocked and confused, but at least they’ll be easy to tell. We need to figure out a way to tell Grantaire without him freaking out and immediately flying home.”</p><p>“Where is he?”</p><p>“He’s doing an art tour <em>aux États-Unis</em>. He’s in LA right now-“</p><p>“<em>Merde</em>.”</p><p>The last half was Courfeyrac. He shook Combeferre’s shoulder and looked at him with wide, panicked eyes. Suddenly Enjolras felt uneasiness spread through his body. He looked helplessly at Combeferre as the other man tried to calm the still wide-eyed Courfeyrac.</p><p>“Courf, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“Get his phone. Or mine. Or yours. Just get anyone’s phone. <em>Mon Dieu</em>, we’re going to be eviscerated.”</p><p>Enjolras was now just as wide-eyed as Courfeyrac. What was wrong? He suddenly felt very worried, on top of every other complicated feeling that he was trying to bury.</p><p>Over the course of their previous conversation, Enjolras had slowly brought his knees down from his chest, as he relaxed his legs a little. Now, however, he snapped his knees back up, and reformed his position into that of a small ball against the wall.</p><p>Combeferre noticed this, and immediately tried to shush Courfeyrac’s panicked ramblings; he had gotten the general idea anyway. But now he realised that Courfeyrac’s overreaction had definitely caused Enjolras to freak out.</p><p>“Courf go grab E’s phone,” he muttered to Courfeyrac, but turned to face Enjolras head on and continued in a soothing manner, “It’s nothing too bad, okay? We just remembered that you get up this early because you do something.”</p><p>Enjolras wanted to ask what “something” was. It was much too vague for his liking, so he cocked his head in a questioning manner.</p><p>Combeferre looked at him and sighed.</p><p>“So you’re not going to understand, but I’ll let you ask specifics after I just say. So Grantaire is in LA right now. There’s a 9 hour difference between here and there. So, you wake up at 7h30 here, and it will be 22h30 there. Grantaire usually calls you around 8h00 in Parisian time. Right now, it’s 8h15. Grantaire’s going to be wondering why you haven’t answered him, so Courf is going to get your phone. Now, hit me with your questions.”</p><p>Enjolras wondered where he should start. He understood nearly nothing that Combeferre said.</p><p>“LA?”</p><p>It seemed odd for a place to have a name consisting of just two letters. Though, he was apparently betrothed to a man who only went by “R”.</p><p>“LA stands for Los Angeles. It’s a city in California, which is part of <em>des États-Unis</em>. I don’t think they had it as a part of the country in 1832.”</p><p>Okay, that made sense. Next question-</p><p> </p><p>“How does Grantaire ‘call’ me when he's so far away?”</p><p>“He’ll use his phone, though I’m pretty sure you guys don’t usually just do a phone call.”</p><p>Enjolras hesitated.</p><p>“Phone?”</p><p>The word felt foreign on his tongue. For a lot of things, he could at least venture a guess as to what they were. But he had no idea what a “phone” could even be.</p><p>Combeferre sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that, Enjolras noted. He hoped that he wasn’t stressing him out too much.</p><p>You definitely are.</p><p>Anyway.</p><p>“So. Okay. A phone is a piece of technology that is very commonplace. You can use it to make what’s called a ‘phone call’ to someone very far away, granted you both have a phone and each others’ numbers.</p><p>A phone number is your identification for these phone calls. You need to have someone’s phone number before you can call them. You can save a bunch of numbers, so you don’t have to memorise everyone’s.</p><p>Phones can do other things too. They have clocks in them that are always accurate to the time, no matter the circumstances. When you woke up this morning, you woke up to an alarm. That alarm was set on your phone. When you go to bed, you can set your phone to make noise at a certain time. This is all related to the clock, since your phone knows the time, so it can accurately wake you up.</p><p>Courf’s going to go grab yours right now. Or, well, the one that you own, though you won’t remember purchasing it. We need to tell Grantaire that you’re alright so he doesn’t panic. You’re always very punctual, so if he calls and you don’t answer, he’ll worry. But we’ll handle it, okay?”</p><p>Enjolras, a little lost by the explanation, nodded at the last part. He was going to be okay. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were wonderful and kind people who were going to help him out.</p><p>
  <em>You don’t deserve it.</em>
</p><p>They seemed to like him.</p><p>
  <em>Not you, they like THEIR Enjolras.</em>
</p><p>This was fine.</p><p>And it was, truly. Enjolras was sure that everything was going to be perfect. Well, maybe it would be great. Maybe okay. Everything would maybe, possibly work out, and he could live a good life in this new world.</p><p>Suddenly a crash from one of the rooms brought him out of his thoughts. Not happily, however.</p><p>No, the crash suddenly brought him back 187 years, though it felt like only a few moments ago.</p><p>Instead of some small crash in a separate room, it was the shot of a rifle.</p><p>
  <em>He was at the barricade. The weight of the weapon still felt strange in his hands. He was tall and seemed delicate, not made for this kind of combat.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yet, there he stood anyway.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There was blood crusted on his boots. Not his own, mind you. It was the blood of le Cabuc, the murderer that had infiltrated the barricade.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What he had done was terrible, but it was a necessary evil. He had given Cabuc a minute to accept his fate. Though, if he were to admit, it was more so for himself than it was for the assassin.</em>
</p><p><em>He had to kill him. It was horrible but it had to be done</em>.</p><p>Though it was likely just Courfeyrac knocking something over, Enjolras heard instead the shrieks of a man who knew he was soon to meet his end. Instead, he felt the weight of a pistol as he pushed it behind the man’s ear. He heard the shot fired. The shot that killed another man. He looked at his feet, and saw blood that was not his own.</p><p>Perhaps it would be better if it were his own.</p><p>But no. No. He looked at his feet and they were bare. No leather boots stained in another man’s blood. No gunpowder marred them either. It was just his bare feet.</p><p>He was still against the wall of this strange flat. Still curled in on himself. Still in front of an increasingly concerned Combeferre.</p><p>Combeferre could definitely read his expressions much better than Enjolras had anticipated. He had never had someone who seemed to care so deeply for him. In fact, he had never had a true friend before. Enjolras had had acquaintances. The men who he had stood at the barricade with were not total strangers, though he hardly spoke to them of matters other than strict business.</p><p>Enjolras liked Combeferre. The man was gentle and calming. He was rational, especially compared to Enjolras’ steadily increasing panic. He felt like he could spend the rest of his life with him. Enjolras knew for certain that he did not see Combeferre in any romantic way. No, he was certainly not interested in Combeferre like that. What he felt was definitely strong enough to be compared to romance, though he knew it was entirely platonic.</p><p>It was strange; he had never felt like this with someone before. He wanted to curl up with Combeferre and just exist together. He wanted to tell Combeferre everything that had ever happened to him. Combeferre felt like someone that he would want to have as a life partner.</p><p>Enjolras was snapped out of his Combeferre-love thoughts by Courfeyrac running back into the room, brandishing an object Enjolras could only assume was a “phone”.</p><p>“Alright so I got it, and I think we might be in the clear. Grantaire probably just thinks you went to bed early.”</p><p>Combeferre nodded and added-</p><p>“I’ll text him and say that I managed to wrangle E into bed early last night.”</p><p>Enjolras gave a small snort. Courfeyrac turned to look at him.</p><p>“What’s so funny?”</p><p>“Oh, well it’s just that I suppose that’s a trait that was carried across from the me that I know and the me that you know. I remember that my Nurse used to inform my mother that I was very stubborn and would refuse to go down.”</p><p>Enjolras had a soft smile on his face at the memory. It was one of the only positive memories from his childhood. Ersilia was the first person to be gentle with him. Though she was never very tactile, he still remembers her soft touches. She was a very kind woman. An immigrant from Italy, she had come from a very large family, and thus knew how to care for young children. She had taught him Italian and Friulian, the regional language of her home. He never had the ability to use it around anyone other than her, but he still could speak it fluently, even after all this time.</p><p>Courfeyrac smirked and Combeferre gently laughed as he said-</p><p>“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you E.”</p><p>Then, Combeferre, who had stayed perched at Enjolras’ side the entire time, stood and offered his hand to Enjolras. He took it, and was pulled up. Combeferre had at least 5 centimetres on him, which was very impressive considering he himself was somewhere near 192.</p><p>Combeferre stretched his legs out, and turned to address both of his companions.</p><p>“So we don’t have to worry about R yet, but we do need to handle the rest of Les Amis. I think we ought to set up an impromptu meeting for as soon as we can get everyone.”</p><p>“This’ll be fun,” Courfeyrac muttered.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>okay so “des États-Unis” is just “the United States” in French, and when i say something like 23h00 that stands for 23 heures which is 11 pm in English. the french use 24 hour time and the “h” stands for “heures” which is hours in french</p><p>hc time !<br/>-R will accept not talking to enj if he thinks that ferre managed to make him sleep<br/>-not relevant yet, but R’s ringtone for enj is y’know THE song ;)))<br/>-enj is 192 cm, ferre is like 197 and teeny tiny little courf is 155 because IM 155 and i deserve representation<br/>-friulian is a language from northeastern italy that has about 600.000 speakers nowadays<br/>-ill probably talk about ersilia more later, because she’s the only positive influence enj has ever had and i like her<br/>-yeah marius is the language guy but i like to think that enj is fluent in kinda obscure languages<br/>-he speaks french (obv), italian, friulian, limited English and maybe more ??</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The author has aphantasia and had to consult reference images for descriptions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Enjolras is introduced to everyone through photographs</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>eek hi !!</p><p>so first off, to the 2 people who bookmarked, thank you !! you have no idea how happy that makes me; just the fact that you would bookmark this mess of a fic that i write at no earlier than 2 am means so much to me</p><p>okay this chapter isn’t that long, but it’s longer than the others have been, its like 3.000 words i think. </p><p>its really just descriptions of the barricade boys; it’s how they fit into my universe tho, so i had to change some ages around to make them fit in how i want them to. so cosette and éponine are older than in canon (bc they’re like 17 in the brick and that’s a no no for this), and i had to randomly assign some ages to characters because they don’t have them </p><p>tw; self deprecating thoughts, but those are really gonna be in every chapter; nothing other than that though</p><p>as always, italicised text is e’s inner thoughts, or any french words</p><p>enjoy !</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Whilst Combeferre had gone to his room to grab his own phone, Courfeyrac and Enjolras made their way to the previously assumed kitchen. Enjolras glanced around the room, glad to see he at least had a vague idea of what some objects were. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glanced at Courfeyrac, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Courfeyrac looked back at him, then directed his view towards the two largest appliances. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gesturing to a large metal box, Courfeyrac explained that it was a refrigerator. He opened the bifold doors of it to reveal that it was cool inside, with what appeared to be food filling it. Courfeyrac explained that it used to prevent food from spoiling as quickly. There was another compartment of this refrigerator, and Courfeyrac pulled it open to reveal a much colder inside. This was a freezer, and was used for a similar purpose to the refrigerator, only more so for meats and other goods that must be kept frozen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Next, Courfeyrac directed his attention to one of the wooden countertops. Built under it was another metal box, this one looking more complicated than the refrigerator. Courfeyrac explained that this was an oven, and Enjolras noted that it seemed far more advanced than the cast-iron ovens he was used to. On top of the oven were burners that were sparked by gas. Above all of this was a large, metal overhang that Courfeyrac explained was a fan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But… how is there a fan that is in there? Who is fanning?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras hasn’t questioned the refrigerator or the freezer being cool. He assumed that was just somehow happening. And the oven and burners seemed to have some explanation. But this large metal box that, Courfeyrac claimed to have a fan in it, that was his limit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Courfeyrac’s face immediately became distressed and he just pointed at Enjolras. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh bordel de merde</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I am NOT going to be the one to explain electricity at 8h30. It's too early for this shit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras was now just as distressed as Courfeyrac, though for entirely different reasons. Enjolras assumed that Courfeyrac was irritated with him, which made him a little panicky. Courfeyrac, in actuality, was only distressed at the reality that this truly was not some twisted joke. His best friend of over 20 years had no idea who he was or where he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras, however, did not know this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… I’m sorry?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was very tentative about it, which seemed to startle himself as much as Courfeyrac. Judging by Courfeyrac’s expression, Enjolras was much the same in both worlds. He was usually so confident with his words, but now his mind was muddled and his mouth even more so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Courfeyrac sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no I didn’t mean it in any bad way like that. This is just a very unfortunate situation, and I’m not really the most qualified to be explaining everything. I’m not going to be super helpful with modern inventions. I can tell you about your personal relations and the law, and that’s pretty much it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Courfeyrac gave him an uncertain smile, and Enjolras offered his own small one in return. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was at this moment that Combeferre chose to reappear. He was holding a prism that was just like the one that Courfeyrac had had earlier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, so I texted everyone to let them know that we’ll be meeting today at 19h00 for a meeting discussing urgent matters. Feuilly’s off of work at 18h30 so he’ll be there, Éponine and Cosette can make it as well. And Marius is back today so we’ve got everyone except Grantaire obviously.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That seemed like a lot of people. Himself, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Éponine, Cosette, Marius, Grantaire. Even without Grantaire, that was still seven people, including himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That seems to be a lot of people,” he said, with some concern lacing his voice, ‘how am I going to be able to remember all of them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre let out of a small sigh, and once again Enjolras felt guilty for the evident stress he was causing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright E, there’s more than just them. We’re a pretty big group, but I can run over basic introductions right now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras slowly nodded. A big group? The idea of knowing and being friends with that many people was both exhilarating and terrifying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, before I start, do you know what a photograph is?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras thought about it. Did he? He vaguely remembered hearing of photographs and a man creating them. His name was something like Niépce? Yes, that sounded familiar. He had taken a photograph of food earlier in the year of Enjolras’ death. He personally had not seen the photo, no he had had other matters to attend to. But, he assumed that it was rather impressive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To answer Combeferre’s question, he gave a small nod. Combeferre actually looked a little taken aback. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh wow, I actually wasn’t expecting that. Okay, so my photos are definitely going to be very different from any that you would’ve seen, but at least you have a concept of it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that, Combeferre pulled out his phone. He sat down at the stool that was farthest left at the kitchen counter and gestured for Enjolras to take the middle seat. Enjolras sat and saw Courfeyrac fall into step behind him, and take the farthest seat, the one to his right. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras leaned over a little so that he could see the screen of Combeferre’s phone. He quietly gasped when it lit up. Combeferre had mentioned that they had other uses other than, what was it, phone calls? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Comebeferre clicked on a small box on the screen that showed what appeared to be a multi-colour flower of sorts. Suddenly the image on the phone changed and there were several different things on the screen. Combeferre browsed through all of the images and tapped on one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The image showed six men all side by side. He recognised what appeared to be himself with Combeferre to the right of him and Courfeyrac to the left. To Combeferre’s right, a small man with dark hair and glasses so thick that they resembled the bottom of a wine bottle. He was leaning on a cane with one arm, but the other was slung over Combeferre’s shoulder. To the left of Courfeyrac was another small person, but this one seemed more petit than tiny. The… man? Enjolras wasn’t sure if they were a man, given their long, braided hair and </span>
  <em>
    <span>chemisier. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But anyway, at the end of the line was a man with thick, black curls. They fell around his eyes and obscured them a little, but what was visible was a stark contrast from the dark hair surrounding them. They were bright and alive, and though they looked brown to Enjolras, he was sure that they must be a brilliant shade of green. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's never been so disappointed to be colourblind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre seemed to notice that his eyes lingered on that man for longer than anyone else, and he quirked a corner of his lips up. Enjolras would have to ask about that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre pointed to the small man on the far right. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s Joly. He’s 27 and in residency at the same hospital I am. Sometimes we like to call him </span>
  <em>
    <span>malade imaginaire</span>
  </em>
  <span> because of his tendencies to worry over any and all illness. He’s got some knee issues, hence the cane. But despite being a hypochondriac, he’s truly jovial and a happy spirit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Next to him is obviously me. I guess I’ll say a little more about myself. So you and I are both 26, and I’m in residency at a hospital right now. Fresh out of med school you could say. I’m basically second in command for our group, and I usually handle the more technical matters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Next is you. So I can’t say everything because I’m not sure how you lived in the 19th century, but I can speak for here. So here you’re 26 as I just mentioned, and you’re going for your doctorate. You’re only a year off, thanks to the fact that you graduated </span>
  <em>
    <span>lycée</span>
  </em>
  <span> a year early. You aspire to be a PoliSci professor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That seemed noble enough to Enjolras. Though he certainly was worried about completing a doctorate program given that he didn’t know anything about his life, let alone his studies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Courfeyrac pointed at himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So this one’s me. Like we said before, I’m a Jr. Associate at a law firm. I’m 25 and I’m not really sure what to say other than I’m a ball of sunshine and your favourite friend ever and you love me so much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras knew he was being teased, but he still mumbled, “I really like ‘Ferre.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre snorted at that and Courfeyrac looked offended. Mock offended? He wasn’t really sure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay first off Enj, </span>
  <em>
    <span>que se passe-t-il</span>
  </em>
  <span>, second off RUDE, third off I’m wounded.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras cracked a small smile at that, and when Courfeyrac saw his reaction, he beamed. Enjolras definitely saw the sun in the smile. Combeferre gave a fond smile to his two companions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyways, now that we have conclusive evidence that I’m E’s favourite, I’m going to continue introductions. Next to Courf is Jean Prouvaire, but we usually just call them Jehan, because there are way too many Jeans in France. It’s probably going to sound strange to you, but they like to use </span>
  <em>
    <span>ils sont </span>
  </em>
  <span>instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>il est. Elles sont </span>
  </em>
  <span>works as well, but just not </span>
  <em>
    <span>il est </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>elle est. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It's going to be weird to you, but please try to respect that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Indeed, Enjolras did find it strange, but he knew that there was probably some sort of reason there for Jehan disliking being referred to as a man or woman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course. I would never disregard the wishes of a friend.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre looked visibly relieved and he smiled once again as he pointed to the last member of the photograph. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I noticed you were looking at him longer than the others. This one is Grantaire, he’s 29, and he's your… y’know. He’s an artist, which is why he isn’t in France right now. He’s doing an international tour for his art. As I mentioned earlier, he’s our resident sceptic. You and him disagree on almost everything to do with politics, but he mostly argues with your opinions just for the hell of it. You two haven’t had any big blow ups since 5 years ago, but you’ll still butt heads from time to time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras stared at the man in the picture. Though he obviously wasn’t very sure of what his personality was, he could at least admit that he definitely found the man very attractive, which was certainly very strange to admit to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could say something, that would most likely embarrass himself, he noticed that Combeferre had another image pulled up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This one was of five people, with three close to the camera and two farther in the back. He recognised Grantaire in the centre, in between a large, bald man, and a rather tall woman with frizzy brown hair. In the back were two women, one with dark hair and another that…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looked unnervingly similar to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras frowned and turned his head towards Combeferre. He pointed at the woman in the photo and asked, “Who’s this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s Cosette. She’s a music teacher at a local </span>
  <em>
    <span>collège</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Just curious, but why’d you point out her specifically before anyone else?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Her appearance is disconcertingly identical to my own.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Courfeyrac leaned over at this point and asked-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Enj, did you have any siblings?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it was only me. The closest person I had to family was Ersilia, but my parents dismissed her after I turned 14.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac gave him a questioning look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ersilia?” Combeferre asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, she was my Nurse. She raised me, since my parents didn’t care enough to do it themselves. Ersilia was from Palmanova, a city in Northeastern Italy. Her native language was Friulian, and she taught me to speak it, as well as Italian. She was a Nurse when I was a child, but became more of a governess when I grew older. My father dismissed her from her position when I was 14, however, and I never did learn why,” he smiled ruefully, “I guess I never will, now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, he had two pairs of arms wrapped around him. He stiffened involuntarily, completely unsure of what was happening. He had never experienced something such as this, and Enjolras felt very confused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, he had to admit, it wasn’t awful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras relaxed into the embrace, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac stayed wrapped around him for a minute more, before Combeferre pulled away. Enjolras stayed in Courfeyrac’s arms, and surprisingly, he felt okay with it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre offered him a comforting smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To at least try and get back onto the introductions, Courf asked if you had any siblings because, well, Cosette is your sister. Twin sister, which is why you look so similar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To say Enjolras was taken aback would be an understatement. He had never so much as had a true family before, and now he had a sister? And a sister that he appeared to be close with as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder if she’s as bad as you. Probably not, she seems to be infinitely better than you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God FUCKING damnit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras thought he had managed to shake these thoughts off until later. They seemed to go away when Combeferre was talking, so he gestured to the image again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who are the rest of the people in the… photograph?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre pointed to the girl with black hair next to Cosette. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This one’s Éponine. She’s 24 and is a co-owner of a café.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre seemed to hesitate for a second, before starting again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She and Cosette are actually together. Romantically.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. Huh. That’s not what he was expecting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guess it runs in the family.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To that, Courfeyrac started cackling so hard that he had to let go of Enjolras and hold onto the counter to keep himself from tipping his stool over. Even Combeferre started snickering, not as loud as Courfeyrac, but still louder than anything he had done before. Enjolras smiled. It felt good to make them laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>These were his friends. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re Enjolras of 2019’s friends, not yours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were friends. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Combeferre and Courfeyrac calmed down enough, Combeferre pointed to the bald man next to Grantaire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is Bossuet. Or L’Aigle, Laigle, Lesgles, or Legle.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras blankly stared at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You just said the same thing four times.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre just grimaced in response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we usually just call him Bossuet, so let’s just use that instead. He’s also 29, and he’s a fully certified lawyer. He’s also remarkably unlucky, so I think we should probably confirm with Joly that he's actually going to be at tonight’s meeting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last person in the frame that Enjolras didn’t know was the frizzy haired woman next to Bossuet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s Musichetta. She’s 28, and she’s the other owner of the café with Éponine. I know that you’ve already heard a lot of information about new types of relationships, but here’s some more. She, Joly and Bossuet are all in a relationship together. Got it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras understood. Sort of. But these were said to be his friends, so just as he put aside his confusion for Jehan, he put it aside for the trio. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As long as they enjoy each others’ company, it is not really my place to say, is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Courfeyrac beamed at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really are the same, no matter what. This is why we love you, Enj.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras smiled in return. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolrss glanced over and noticed that Combeferre had another photo up. This one showed a very large and stocky man picking up a leaner one, who looked extremely flustered, bridal style, whilst a redhead and a small boy laughed at him in the background. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre pointed towards the young boy in the back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is Gavroche, he's Éponine’s younger brother, and he’s 11. Usually Éponine doesn’t want him hanging around meetings, but he manages to get there anyway. Bit of a troublemaker, but he’s pretty much everyone’s younger brother. The man next to him,” Combeferre pointed to the redhead, “is Feuilly. He’s 26 and is an artist, like Grantaire, but he does it mainly in his spare time. He particularly likes making fans, but honestly, everything that he makes is completely gorgeous.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Next, Combeferre pointed towards the large man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This, is Bahorel. He’s 27 and also a lawyer; can you sense a theme here? But yeah, he’s a lawyer and goes to the gym way more often than even seems to be possible, given his schedule. The man he’s picking up is Marius. Marius is 22, and he works as a translator. Despite being a bit of a dummy, the man is crazy talented with speaking and learning languages. And,” Combeferre ran through a mental checklist, “that should be everyone. Let me get a picture of all of us together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Combeferre chose a picture of everyone Enjolras had just been introduced to. They were all crammed into a corner in what appeared to be a café. The walls around the door were made of brick and were right next to a large window. Visible outside the café, through the window, were Éponine, Feuilly, Bahorel and Grantaire. Coming in through the door were Bossuet and Muichetta, both smiling at Joly, who was seated in front of a table a few meters away from the door. Cosette and Marius were situated right next to the door, and appeared to be in the midst of a conversation. In the very back corner in front of the window had a couch, where Enjolras saw himself, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac. He was in the middle with Courfeyrac to his right and Combeferre to his left. They both leaned over him to have their own conversation, and Enjolras saw himself turned to face the window, looking at Grantaire outside. Grantaire was also facing him from outside, and they appeared to be sharing a small smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras found himself smiling at the image too. It seemed like a very happy and cozy group. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And they’re not yours. They don’t know you, and you don’t know them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut for a second, willing his thoughts to go away. He cocked his head to the side and asked-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where was this taken?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s at Éponine and ‘Chetta’s café. It's called Café Musain.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enjolras’ eyes widened immediately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you say the Musain?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>alright, notes time.<br/>un collège would be a middle school, or jr. high</p><p>also yes, l’aigle, laigle, lesgles, and legle are all pronounced THE DAMN SAME</p><p>most of my descriptions were based on actual photos of the 2012 actors, or really amazing fan art, and the kitchen description is of one i found in google images for “parisian flat kitchen” bc unfortunately i have aphantasia so i can’t give descriptions w/out having a reference picture :(((</p><p>hc time !<br/>-cosette and éponine put the lesbian in lesbian misérables<br/>-pls i know that they’re both canonically straight, but i made grantaire hot so who gives a shit abt canon<br/>-i really REALLY like the idea of E and cosette being siblings, and twins ?? MWAH, chefs kiss<br/>-sorry that i made épi pen and cassette tape so much older<br/>-NB jehan bc i like that<br/>-E is accepting of everyone, as long as you are willing to fight for the Revolution, he don’t give a damn what’s in your pants<br/>-ersilia is my new wife, sorry i don’t make the rules<br/>-ersilia fan club<br/>-but like okay E has never been hugged before so when Combobulate and Coconut hug him his brain short circuits </p><p>also i literally SCOURED several french newspapers from 1832-33 and i could not find a SINGLE PAPER talking about niépce or his stupid food picture, so i have no idea if it was taken before or after June 6th, so i just put it before because fuck it, i needed to put it SOMEWHERE</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>okay i kinda went full on brick mode when i went to 3rd person narration oops</p><p>so some updated notes about like, specific hcs and other things i have for enjolras, and ill update when the other barricade boys (plus the ladies) come into the story-<br/>-enjolras dies in the corinth like in the brick<br/>-enj is canonically from the south of France, and i like to think of him being from like Isère<br/>-his parents are not good !<br/>-since his parents are not good, he has had like NO physical contact ever and doesnt know what a hug is the poor baby :(<br/>-hes probably gonna be kind ooc for the rest of the fic, just because i dont really know how to completely capture brickjolras, especially since a big part of his personality is his friends, but he doesnt have them really<br/>-claquesous still dies because fuck him, and mabeuf still dies because thats important to making enj feel guilty and shameful<br/>-montparnasse is in the modern era though, so hes the only one of the patron-minette because éponine and the rest of the the thénardiers are also here</p><p>so yeah, i’ll update you on the information in upcoming chapters as new characters are introduced, take care lovelies</p></blockquote></div></div>
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